𝐑𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 & 𝐒𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐝: 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

Chapter 1: This is my story

Stone Ravencroft|

This is my story.

I was the first-ever witch to harbour necromancy and wolf-shifting abilities the natural way. Covens everywhere worshipped me for this, almost as much as they feared my raging fire potential. My father was a face I'd never met before he was banished. He'd been the leader of all covens in the entire world and a full-blood witch. From the direct line of primaeval fire mages. In witch factions, Fire mages stood destructive and where their blood emanated original, they were feared exceedingly.

My father was both.

I was his mistake, and my mother had been his inherited punishment from the gods.

She was a young Blue-Blooded Alpha Wolf. In werewolf factions, Alphas sat at the top. Above Betas, Zetas, Omegas, and many other class and strength ranks. Blue blood was idolized, rare to find, and when female. They were born to be soldiers, with their males born to lead, all of them their partners beside them as very important tether chips to power. Whereas witches were born to utilize and retain magic, regardless of having a partner or lack thereof, sex, gender, and age too.

The two creatures were too different, with only their curses and servitude to the moon being the only thing that should have united them. But it never seemed to mend the long-existing hurt. Growing up, I heard it whispered that my parent's union was supposed to unite our moon creatures. I imagine it could have, if not for the great Marcus Ravencroft - my father - who refused to love or accept my mother.

As expected, he acknowledged her wolf as a bond mate in public but where he was presumed to draw her native mark in private. The man mated her in a cold marital bed before proceeding to make due on the dark deal he'd made with the moon's mistress. In a natural case, as the mate of a werewolf, he was supposed to be the one receiving the mark from my mom. Instead, and because of the deal he'd struck with the moon mistress, he forced his mark on her.

A werewolf's mark was natural, bonding and it symbolized eternal love and not just any love. True bonded love.

His mark was dealt to him by the moon's mistress, from the belly of the eternal floods of fire.

It symbolized eternal death and not just hers.

My mother tells me it was in her last minutes that she most understood her cruel Father. A father who'd never accepted her half-breed nature, but had done what he had to for his family. Had she died, all were-people that shared her blue blood would have died too. Taking with them the core of the wolf that gave life to their packs - in the form of the ruling Alphas. Her death would've been genocide of an entire civilisation of earth creatures at my father's hand.

My mother doesn't deny it. She confesses to chanting and begging for the moon mistress to offer her a deal as well. The moon mistress was a goddess who could give her all that she desired; life, a clean womb to hold my father's spill, and a chance for her revenge. The untapped magic provided by the blood of a Ravencroft heir.

All for one price.

Me.

I was born to be a power battery source for the magic that would kill my father on the eve of my twenty-first birthday.

I was also born to be sacrificed to the moon mistress on the eve of my twenty-first birthday.

All my life I was brought up revered, worshipped and moulded to belong to a goddess.

I knew my role, and I was more than alright with it.

Until I turned sixteen and the best thing that hurt so good happened to me.

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